The sun rises and sets.
Egyptian Book of the Dead
pg. 408, vol. 1.

Song F

the sound is everything truly,
ground-level hobby I was out slumped on the escape
and christ there was wetness everywhere vomit and a broken screen, inside,
and out with it

past the smoke, there was I, and there was
she (in my hand, as well as drink
blue lagoons that sicked sweet
aroma of pork and cove

and with a leap I made off into the autumn air
clutching an image of a Du Fu poem, and in it, writing
"At Aubergine on 50th & being the only chap who didn't speak a lick of Japanese
but once again on the sunny side of the st"

Avenues that miss
her "e's", I, not at ease, never fallen apart much like this, I,
suppose I've grown tired, if anything, she as well, passing
a stained angel of glass to posture
everything I do, I did then, I postured

the island now returns to the sea in sight of the elector
I was a grub sticking out of the bark
and I wanted back!
everything back!

how i had many ways to clobber him!
be washed and isolated as a person
on Ellis, a quick breath of street
 where in some burnt out wreck
i fished out a picture of some women in bikinis
and hurried it back home

some relative? of mine stole it from me

the process

so how i pretty much write now

is like several poems in a row

then i go 'yup thats good'

when people ask me, and it isn't like people do ask me,
what I write about I say mumble mumble y'know thecity (sex, fences
depression, first love last night's love, the s.s. aka the qahoots aka rogue scholars
and even though that may have been true in the past
--really isn't anymore

thecity, I mean, no sides here to take
I've only ever lived in thecity and before that it was ho chi minh
I remember copper and steel piping and beaches
and a ruffled boy and his mother and his mother's father who
had a grand funeral procession
that's acity
this is home       all the same (we all act somewhere
                                            we all act toward
we all embark another big one

these wrecks? they don't give anything back

so why the pretense, q
why the same answers, more importantly
why that question
write yr own poem

remembering porky and porkie's as well as remembering Giulio Sorgini

porky and porkie's is closing, actually, it has closed.
actually, that was a long long time ago. I was with Giulio Sorgini
and we walked by it and made a joking plan to eat there.
I don't remember walking with Giulio Sorgini, so perhaps,
we never did walk by porky and porkie's, so maybe,
it really hasn't closed.

All the years




April that year




Avenue on a thin coast

"'you rectify what can be rectified', and when a man's heart
cannot see this, the door of his divine intelligence is shut"
cold is coming -- which is to say great writing
I pour a cup-lid of jasmine from the thermos and settle in red sox,
krack my knuckles, and start by reading a random passage
and in the midst of an awful/great bathroom emergency, a bit of the
editor's afterworde.